Hello good people of Florida. I’m talking to you, clown selling pornography out of a Publix bathroom. And you, main with chainsaw hunting pythons. And you, woman convinced she’s a ghost. You too, 6-year-old boy trying to start a KKK Klub at your grade school. Don’t think I’m not talking to you as well, entire Boca Raton nursing home that got herpes over the course of one weekend-long silver orgy. And who can forget the legion of rednecks cooking meth in a swamp.
Today I, as well as your state government, speak to all Floridians. The message is a simple one. Please do not shoot your guns at Hurricane Dorian. Your weak bullets will not affect the mighty storm no matter how much time you let them soak in either holy water or HIV infected blood. Your fentanyl tipped bullets will have no effect either. Okay? Don’t shoot at the hurricane. It won’t work.
And for what it’s worth, the weather machine one of you think you built out of all the TV satellites you stole from a trailer park isn’t going to affect the hurricane either. That thing doesn’t work. It might get struck by lightning, but that’s roughly the extent of the weather influence it has. Just get the hell out of the path of the storm.
But, of course, this won’t happen. Thousands of Floridians will step out of their homes, trailers, and sex shanties to unload their ordinance wildly at the clouds and the wind. Then, naturally, God will shoot back, and unlike the inbreds firing ineffective volleys at him, he wont’t miss. It’ll be shock and awe on the state of Florida. Afterward the bodies will all be consumed by pythons, gators, and whatever the newest horrifying invasive jungle creature is that’s ruining Florida’s ecosystem.
But try not to shoot the hurricane if you can.